


Always You

by JenSurname



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Airports, Arrivals, F/F, Fluff, One Shot, Random & Short, Short One Shot, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenSurname/pseuds/JenSurname
Summary: Waking and waiting, but the waiting is nearly over.
Relationships: Piper Chapman/Alex Vause
Kudos: 19





	Always You

**Author's Note:**

> A break from my WIP, because I can and because they want each other and they've waited long enough.

I wake early, before my alarm. The red digital numbers on the clock read 07:33, and I groan quietly then turn onto my side, pressing my face into the pillow. I think I’ve seen every hour on this clock throughout the night and am the furthest thing from rested.

I reach for my phone and check my screen. No messages.

I’m used to messages when I wake. Sometimes photos. Occasionally voice messages. This morning there’s nothing and the pang of disappointment is acute, but it quickly dissipates and I push my face into the pillow to hide the smile that appears when I remember why.

I compose a quick message and send it, knowing it won’t be received for another couple of hours, but she’s the first thing I think of when I open my eyes and she should know that.

“ _It’s always you._ ”

I lie in bed for another moment, watching the single tick on the screen showing my message hasn’t yet been delivered, then roll out of bed and head straight for the shower.

It takes me twenty minutes and three outfit changes before I decide on an outfit to wear. In the end I don’t actually decide anything at all. I stop thinking about it and just go for something simple - black jeans, white shirt, boots. I tie my hair back in a loose ponytail and dab perfume behind each ear, check my reflection in the mirror, then head downstairs.

I peer into the fridge but find nothing I want. I open the cupboard and the cereal boxes stare back at me. My stomach growls and I know I should eat, but my appetite is absent and nothing is going to be able to fill this space inside me.

Only her.

Back to the fridge. A glass of OJ.  
A banana from the fruit bowl.  
Coffee. Always coffee.

I check my phone. No messages. The one I sent still sits there, with one grey tick.

I have an hour before I need to leave and it already feels like the longest hour of my life.

I head back upstairs and strip the linen from the bed. I bundle the sheets into the laundry basket and remake it choosing plain white linen. I then remake it again, using purple with a paisley design, then take it all off again and go back to the white.

Every decision seems both crucial and totally unimportant. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror again, and make that crucially unimportant decision to roll the sleeves of my shirt halfway up my forearm. I check my watch, and then my phone, and then unroll my sleeves and return to the kitchen for another coffee.

I move through the house, plumping cushions that don’t need plumping and rearranging them on the couch. I shoo the cat from the armchair and I sit and take down my book, trying to kid myself that I can focus enough to kill a little time. I read the same page four times before I accept that this isn’t going to work.

Fifteen minutes earlier than needed, I roll up my sleeves again, grab my jacket, and leave. I climb into my car. I tell myself I’ll just drive slower than I need to, but I don’t. Every light is green, the roads are clear and I’m pushing the speed limit on every stretch. I know I’m going to be at least a full half hour earlier than I need to be. I make one stop along the way and when I arrive at my destination I sit in the car for another fifteen minutes after finding a park, waiting.

I close my eyes and rest my head back. I take some deep breaths and try to slow my pounding heart. I check my phone again, and as I watch that one grey tick turns to two. Message delivered. The mindful breathing is undone with just that one small change.

I climb out of the car and make my way into the building. I ride the elevator with a dozen other people but see none of them. I check my phone again as I move through the crowds and I pause briefly in front a screen until I find what I’m looking for. My stomach does an unexpected somersault and I move to join the line at Starbucks, feeling my heart pounding.

More caffeine. Check. Like that’s going to help my escalating heart rate.

I pull my phone from my pocket again as I wait in line and as I watch, those two grey ticks turn blue. I can’t help the smile that works its way onto my face when I see it. I know what it means.

I order my coffee and move to the end of the counter to wait for it. My phone vibrates in my hand and I check the screen and it’s her. A message from her.

“ _You._ ”

I hear my name the third time it’s called and I step forward to collect my coffee with a thanks and an apology, utterly distracted by her and it’s only one word.

I take my coffee and move away, heading down the escalator to wait. I sip my coffee, eyes fixed on those sliding doors. Every time they open I stand a little taller, watching as more and more people spill into the open space. They ebb and flow, the people. Small groups and random stragglers. All pouring from those doors and into the arms of the people waiting patiently.

I’m not waiting patiently.  
I’m anything but patient now.

I finish my coffee and I toss the empty cup into the trash. The buzzing in my head is a mix of caffeine and adrenaline and I’m struggling to keep the pounding of my heart under control. I move to lean against a pillar, keeping my eyes on those doors and the never-ending stream of people.

There’s a lull, the doors remain closed for twenty seconds, then they slide open and three more people pass through before they close again. They open again ten seconds later and two more people exit, then they close once more. Another thirty seconds pass, then a tall man wearing business attire strides into the space as the doors slide closed behind him.

I frown looking at the closed doors, then pull my phone from my pocket. I check the screen and open the app just to be certain, but there’s no new message. I stuff it back into my pocket and look up just in time to see the doors slither closed again. Striding into the open space in front of them is her.

I stay perfectly still, my breath catches in my throat just at the sight of her. She’s pulling a small carry-on by the handle and she’s looking around as she moves in the direction of the exit, her eyes sweep the gathered crowd of impatiently waiting people. I take this moment to watch her, to take her in, to secretly observe her in this room full of people.

She is everything and I can’t wait any longer.

I move to the right, forward, toward the barrier that separates us, pushing a path through the waiting throng. I reach the space where the barrier ends just as her eyes find me and she stops, just briefly, an almost imperceptible stutter in her confident stride.

I raise the bunch of flowers I’d bought on my way here and suddenly I feel as small and inadequate as the tired and unimaginative welcome gift. I feel foolish. These flowers are not enough. _**I**_ am not enough. I’ll never _be_ enough.

But then she smiles, and she turns in my direction, and her pace quickens and smile widens and maybe, just maybe, I’m mistaken.

She stops when she reaches me and her hand falls from her carry-on and our arms find their way around each other. I’m clasping the stupid flowers against her back and my heart is swelling and I think my chest might crack right open so it can burst free.

“You,” I whisper, my face pressed into the side of her neck.

“It’s always you,” she murmurs.

And it is.


End file.
